The Day I became a Marathon Runner

I wanted my very first blog post to be one of a day that had so much meaning to me personally. By this time in my running journey, I had run many Half Marathons, but on October 10, 2010 I ran my first full marathon. The Portland Marathon. Below are my thoughts during those 26.2 miles that I wrote several days after completing this race. I hope you enjoy. 

Portland Marathon

My VERY FIRST Marathon. 26.2 miles of rain. It was the best day ever

I knew at the Start line I was going to finish this race. I was 110% mentally prepared but only 85% physically prepared. By the end I knew I had under prepared and over ran this race. What I lacked in physical readiness, I more than made up for in mental determination to finish. As I Stood at the start line waiting for my group to begin our 26.2 mile journey, I realized I would be running the entire race in the rain, a chilly Portland rain. No need to worry about heat stroke or dehydration.

By mile 3, I was warm enough to toss my Mylar cape and that I had wrapped tightly around my torso. As I threw it to the side, I had such a feeling of strength and endurance. I felt as if I could run forever. Mile marker 10 was a bittersweet moment, as this was where the half marathoners split from the full runners. Every race up to now I had always followed the group running the Half. As I watch them veer to the left, I thought WOW they are almost done and I’m still in double digits (16.2 remaining). 

Mile 17 was the only real hill, but I didn’t mind very much as this was the point in the race where I reach single digits. Only 9 miles to go, the countdown has officially begun. So far the race was relatively smooth and enjoyable. In a couple miles I will experience an effect of running that I’ve only read about, the runner’s high. I wanted that state of euphoria to last forever. But alas, as all good things do, this too had to end. 

When I reached mile 24, two miles left to run. I know this lifelong dream was about to come true. My knees were really aching by this point, which forced me to walk part of the last quarter of the race. Although my body was exhausted, there was an inner strength pushing me to the finish.

Mile 25 went by so quickly. During this mile I was thinking back to all the training that I had done over the past 7 months. Every mile I ran, every meal eaten, every cross training exercise I’d done, was to prepare for this moment. When I hit the 26 mile marker, my feet took over and my pace increased until I finally crossed the finish line. On this raining Sunday in October, at age 46, I was not just another person who loves to run. I was a Marathon runner.